I have a favorite journalist and his name is Chris Rose. I had always read his column in the Times Picayune growing up and beyond. He was funny and sarcastic and biting. I looked forward to every Sunday, waiting to steal the paper from my mother so I could read what he had to say.
After Katrina, Chris Rose changed his style a bit. He had to, because the city he was writing in and the climate he was writing from had changed. He adapted and wrote with an honest gaze about what was happening. He broke my heart time after time and that was okay. His heart was breaking along with everyone else’s. We were all suffering, sometimes we still are. Chris Rose didn’t mind admitting that he cried at things like signs and empty lots and cryptic messages. We all did, but we didn’t want to talk about it.
And so I’m posting a link to his blog. Because I read it obsessively and I’m damn glad he’s still around. My mother calls me randomly to tell me about something he’s written and that makes me happy. Because I’m still homesick for Louisiana and I’m glad we’ll be going back for a visit soon. And even though I’m having a good time in my new city, yeah, I’m nowhere near calling it home yet. I might never be.